Chapter 25 - Page 2

The sooner we understand each other, and, I
may say, the sooner we part, it will be the wiser, and the better for
the interests of both. I blame myself for suffering the intimacy to last
so long, and for proceeding so far."

"And this is said by a fervent-souled Italian girl! One of eighteen
years;--who comes of a region in which it is the boast that the heart is
even warmer than the sun; of a race, among whom it is hard to find
_one--oui,_ even a poor _one_--who is not ready to sacrifice home,
country, hopes, fortune, nay, life itself, to give happiness to the man
who has chosen her from all the rest of her sex."

"It _would_ seem to _me_ easy to do all this, Raoul. _Si_--I think I
could sacrifice everything you have named, to make _you_ happy! Home I
have not, unless the Prince's Towers can thus be called; country, since
the sad event of this week, I feel as if I had altogether lost; of
hopes, I have few in this world, with which your image has not been
connected; but those which were once so precious to me are now, I fear,
lost; you know I have no fortune, to tempt me to stay, or you to
follow; as for my life, I fear it will soon be very valueless--an sure
it will be miserable."

"Then why not decide at once, dearest Ghita, to throw the weight of your
sorrows on the shoulders of one strong enough to bear them? You care not
for dress or gay appearances, and can take a bridegroom even with the
miserable aspect of a lazzarone, when you know the heart is right. You
will not despise me because I am not decked as I might be for the
bridal. Nothing is easier than to find an altar and a priest among these
monasteries; and the hour for saying mass is not very distant. Give me a
right to claim you, and I will appoint a place of rendezvous, bring in
the lugger to-morrow night, and carry you off in triumph to our gay
Provence; where you will find hearts gentle as your own, to welcome you
with joy, and call you sister."

Raoul was earnest in his manner, and it was not possible to doubt his
sincerity. Though an air of self-satisfaction gleamed in his face, when
he alluded to his present personal appearance, for he well knew all his
advantages in that way, in spite of the dress of a lazzarone.

"Urge me not, dear Raoul," Ghita answered, though, unconsciously to
herself, she pressed closer to his side, and both sadness and love were
in the very tones of her voice; "urge me not, dear Raoul; this can never
be. I have already told you the gulf that lies between us; you _will_
not cross it, to join _me_, and I _cannot_ cross it, to join _you_.
Nothing but _that_ could separate us; but that, to my eyes, grows
broader and deeper every hour."